How Harry Lost His Groove Again
by Kits
Summary: It was absolutely, positively, not entirely Thomas's fault that Harry was going on a blind date with a man. Really. Sequel to How Harry Got His Groove Back. New chapters uploaded every Monday.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It wasn't that Harry going on a date was unusual.

Well, okay, yes, it was, Thomas amended. But the fact he was going on a date with a man was even more unusual. Not that it had entirely been Thomas's fault. He had been cutting Mrs. Sheffield's hair, half-listening and adding vague exclamations as she mentioned she had a cousin who knew a friend who had a nephew who was gay and she was _sure_ Thomas and him would hit it off just perfectly, and by the time Thomas realized he was being set up on a date, cleverly wedged between anecdotes about an obese Pomeranian and the latest gossip, Mrs. Sheffield was gazing at him expectantly.

"Uh," he said intelligently, casting about for a suitable excuse. "Mais non, I could not! I am enjoying my seengle life too much."

He mentally congratulated himself with a smile that promptly crumbled when he saw the crushed expression on Mrs. Sheffield's face.

"Oh," she said disappointedly. "Well, I suppose it's all for the best…"

In a fit of part inspiration and part desperation, Thomas blurted, "What about 'Arry?"

She looked shocked. "Your ex?"

The other customers, all outrageously wealthy women of the trophy wife to the behind the scenes businesswoman age, muttered discontent and veiled threats against the man who Thomas insisted he had dumped. They knew better, the poor dear.

Thomas raised his voice above the noise. "But he is still my friend. He 'as done nothing but pout since he lost me. It would be good for him, no?"

The discontent turned into coos of admiration for Thomas's generosity and Mrs. Sheffield replied with a smile so bright it made his sacrifice totally worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Your sacrifice

"_Your _sacrifice?" Harry stared at him with a disbelieving expression on his face. He gestured wildly with his arms to where a duffle bag rested at the foot of the couch. "My wallet's in there. Would you like to take my money and donate it to a worthy cause for your next noble deed?"

"Now, Harry, don't be like that," Thomas said placatingly, trailing after Harry around his apartment as he turned to pace. "It's just one date. Really, I thought you'd be proud of me."

"Proud—why on earth would I be proud? You set me up on a date! A date that is going to make several people question my heterosexual credentials and with good reason."

"People already question--" Thomas began to say, then abruptly changed tack when he caught Harry's murderous expression. "I thought you'd be proud because I'm just doing what you do. You know, rescuing little old ladies, saving puppies, all that jazz."

"And you didn't stop to think that amidst all this daring-do I might want to have a relationship? With a girl?"

Thomas stared at him evenly. Harry met his gaze defiantly for a moment, then sighed and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm working on it," he said defensively.

"It's just one date," Thomas coaxed. "You might even enjoy it."

"It's a date with a man," insisted Harry.

"Well, yes, but you people get so caught up in that sort of thing," Thomas waved his hand dismissively. "Please? For me?"

Thomas had learned not long after meeting Harry the first time that his brother was a sucker for anyone who had a problem, asked nicely, or in general refrained from attempting to kill him when they met him. The former consisted of a depressingly low number of people. Being his brother, Thomas was not above exploiting this weakness whenever it worked to his advantage.

Harry visibly wavered, finally heaving a martyred sigh as he surrendered. He pointed a finger at Thomas. "You owe me."

"Of course."

"Something big, too," Harry said.

Thomas herded him into the bedroom, hoping to tactfully suggest a few clothing choices while Harry was distracted and pliable. "Naturally. Do you still have that shirt I gave you for Christmas? And where is your mirror?"

"I don't own one."

"Well, that certainly explains some things. This is going to take some work," Thomas muttered under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Harry!" Thomas shouted gleefully. "There was a handsome man hiding under that ruffian all along!"

"I look like an idiot."

"You look trendy," Thomas corrected. They both surveyed the end result in a mirror Thomas had carried over to Harry's apartment in the oversized behemoth he jokingly called a car. For once, Harry's hair was wrestled into submission under Thomas's studied hand, looking almost like it was supposed to stand up in the back like that. He wore a flattering pair of black slacks that only made his legs seem longer—"I look like a baby giraffe," Harry had muttered darkly until Thomas shushed him—and a dark blue shirt with the first two buttons strategically left open. Thomas tilted his head. "Not as trendy and amazing as me, obviously, but as close as you'll ever get."

"You're a riot. So what's this guy like?" Harry asked, fiddling with the open buttons again. Thomas smacked his hand away.

"Stop it. You look like somebody's prom date when you button them all."

"Fine." Harry gazed at Thomas expectantly. Thomas feigned ignorance until Harry made a waving gesture with his hand. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What's this guy like?"

A White Court vampire never fidgeted. It demonstrated a lack of confidence, weakness that could be exploited by enemies or even friends. White Court vampires coolly surveyed their opponents, let a decorative sneer twist their lips and answered any question with an evasiveness that would make a politician proud.

Thomas fidgeted.

"Thomas," Harry growled in a warning tone. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Well, I haven't exactly met him," Thomas said, determinedly not meeting Harry's eye. "It was just on the fly—"

"I'm going on a blind gay date?" Harry's expression promised retribution sometime in the near future.

"I'm sure he's a wonderful, charming man," Thomas held his hands in front of him in what he hoped was an appeasing manner. And probably a dog, he added internally. Outwardly, he brightened. "Besides, he's undoubtedly filthy rich, if he's running in Mrs. Sheffield's circles."

Harry let out a sound that began as a mirthless laugh and ended up a low moan. "Great. I can be a kept man."

"That's the spirit!" Thomas pounded him on the back cheerfully. There was a knocking at the door. "That's probably him now."

They both stared at the door, Harry with horrified resignation written on his face and Thomas fighting to keep the smirk that threatened to appear at any moment. He choked back his laughter, knowing Harry would not appreciate the humor until later. Much, much later. Probably in a decade or so, Harry might even forgive him.

"You stay here," Harry ordered, pointing to the floor of his room. "The last thing I want to explain is why my ex is telling me how to dress."

"If you showed up at the door wearing what you normally do, you wouldn't have to explain," Thomas said dryly. Harry glared at him and Thomas made an impatient sound, rolling his eyes.

"I'll stay here," Thomas reassured him, shooing Harry into the living room when another knock sounded. "Go, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"There's nothing you wouldn't do," Harry shot back, walking into the living room. He squared his shoulders and opened the door with a bright, painfully fake smile on his face that melted into a comical look of shock. If he was a cartoon, he would be reaching down to pick up his jaw right now.

The man standing at the door almost made Thomas jealous. Almost. He was tall enough to look Harry in the eye and probably get himself recruited to several NBA leagues without even trying. His hair stayed perfectly in place, one lock artfully falling over his forehead just above two blue eyes. He smiled, revealing two rows of even, bleached teeth.

Thomas hated him immediately.

"You must be Harry," he said in a deep voice one step away from being a purr. He held out his hand. "I'm Nick."

"Yeah, I'm—uh, hi," Harry stumbled out. Thomas covered his eyes with one hand. He had done his part in helping the man dress so he looked less like a refugee from a homeless shelter, but neglected to teach him the finer points of flirting. No wonder he was helpless at getting dates—and he had the nerve to blame it on having to pretend he was gay.

Nick didn't seem to mind Harry's awkwardness though, judging by the way his smile widened, making his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners. "I heard how you got roped into this," he said sympathetically. "You know how meddling relatives get."

"Yes, I do know," Harry said, projecting his voice just a little too much to be meant for just Nick. Thomas's hands formed a rude gesture behind the wall where Harry couldn't see. He peeked his head around the corner to watch the introduction.

"I hope we can have a good time anyway," Nick continued smoothly. "Aunt Rebecca told me that you just went through a nasty break-up with your boyfriend, so if you don't even want to go, I'll completely understand. We could pretend that we went, say it was awful, and they'll never bother us again." He let his eyes trail over Harry's form, a glint in them that made Thomas's hackles rise. He added sotto voice, "Though it would be a shame."

Blushing, Harry shook his head. "No, I mean, I'd love to go."

"Great!" Nick extended an arm, the chivalrous bastard, and Harry hesitated a second before taking it. "I was thinking we could go to La Pierre's for dinner, get to know each other, then maybe catch a movie."

"Sounds great," Harry said sincerely. The door shut behind them, wards flashing briefly as they were reactivated.

Thomas stared at the closed door suspiciously. He recognized that glint in Nick's eyes from years of personal experience. If he thought he was going to trip his little brother into bed with a sinfully expensive dinner at the best restaurant in town, a smile that Colgate could use for advertising, and charm that would make Cary Grant look like a schlub in comparison--well, he probably could. That's what big brothers were for.

With a resolved nod, Thomas picked up the phone and began calling some numbers. He would need back-up for this one.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Terribly, terribly sorry about missing Monday. My grandparents are celebrating their 50th anniversary soon and preparations took up some of my time. As an apology, a bonus chapter uploaded!

* * *

Chapter 4

To his pleased surprise, Harry found himself relaxing during the date. Nick seemed intelligent, funny, and a blind man could tell he was drop-dead gorgeous. Even when Harry found himself floundering with the menu or realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that there were no prices listed on the side, Nick kept a running commentary that served to put him at ease. He even stepped in when the waiter arrived and ordered for both of them in flawless French. At least, it sounded flawless. Not that Harry had anything to compare it to, except Thomas's attempts to pepper his fake accent with pigeon French here and there, taken mostly from repeated viewings of the seduction techniques utilized by the infamous Pepe Le Pew.

"So you didn't pick anything up from your ex, I see," Nick gently teased.

Harry fumbled his glass of water. "Oh, Toe-moss? No, guess not. We weren't very alike, I'm afraid."

Nick shrugged. "Sometimes opposites work, sometimes they don't. Depends on the people."

"Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What do you do for a living? I didn't really catch any details from your aunt," he added apologetically.

"She's not my real aunt," Nick corrected. "I just call her that because she was around so much growing up. I'm actually a writer."

"Really?" Harry didn't have to feign interest. "That's cool."

Nick laughed, his face twisting into a mock grimace. "Technical writer, actually, but it sounds better when I just say writer." He winked. "Then people assume I'm a novelist and must be interesting."

"I doubt you ever have to fake being interesting," Harry said without thinking, mentally kicking himself when he realized what he had said. He hid his blush by taking another large gulp of water.

Nick seemed pleased by the compliment. He leaned forward across the table. "So what do you do for a living, Harry?"

And the evening had been going so well, too. Mentally bracing himself for the reaction he knew was looming, Harry mumbled, "I'm a wizard", though it came out more of "umazard".

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm a wizard," Harry repeated slowly. A flash of movement caught his eye and he frowned, thinking he saw a familiar face sitting two tables away. The person held their menu high, obscuring their face from view.

"A wizard?" Nick, to his credit, didn't have the tone people usually had when they heard what Harry did for a living, the one that said extra-long-sleeved jackets might have a place in Harry's future. "Like a stage magician?"

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor for a first date, and still frowning as he tried to place the short blonde hair peeking above the menu, Harry nodded absently. "My dad was a stage magician."

"That must have been interesting growing up," Nick said. He glanced curiously behind him. "Are you looking for something?"

Harry turned his attention back to Nick. "Sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew."

Just then the menu shifted and Karrin Murphy looked straight at Harry before ducking behind her menu again.

"Murphy?" he said aloud in surprise. Shaking his head, he spared a quick glance at Nick. "Would you excuse me?"

Without waiting for Nick to reply, Harry stood up and stalked over to the table where Murphy sat still pretending to be intent on the menu.

"Murphy? What are you doing here?" he asked.

Murphy gave up, placing the menu on the table and looking up with surprise. "Oh, hi, Harry," she said brightly. "Just eating out."

"At La Pierre's?" Harry said skeptically, glancing around. Chicago's best, with four Michelin stars, La Pierre's was not somewhere one went to 'eat out' unless one had the last name Rockefeller. He grudgingly had to admit that Thomas was right about that, at least; Nick must have been filthy rich in order to get them both reservations here. Not that he planned on letting Thomas off the hook for involving him in this mess, no matter how nice the night had been so far.

Murphy nodded. "You know how it is, just got to treat yourself once in a while."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, unconvinced. If Murphy didn't want to tell him what was going on, there would be no getting anything out of her until she was good and ready. Besides, he did know what it felt like to go somewhere nice once in a while. Of course, nice for him usually meant Long John Silver's instead of Burger King, but maybe Murphy had higher standards than him. "I suppose."

"So, I see you're here with a date," Murphy said suddenly. "How's that going?"

"It's going fin—" Harry began to say.

Murphy interrupted him. "Because I can always call you if you need an excuse to leave, you know. Just say you're needed at work by the Chicago PD." She already had her cell phone out.

"I don't own a cell phone," Harry reminded her.

She paused. "Oh. Well, we can tell him that I got a call then, and I need your help on whatever it is."

"Murph, I appreciate the thought, but I really don't need rescuing. I'm enjoying myself."

"Really?" Murphy cast a suspicious glare at Nick, who gave a small wave in return. As someone who was intimately familiar with Murphy's glares, Harry found himself impressed at Nick's bravery. "Where are you planning on going after dinner?"

Harry put his hands on his hips and tilted his head, feeling the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping into his voice. "We're going to a movie. What is this about?"

"Nothing, Harry," she reassured him. "Just happened to run into you, that's all. Enjoy your dinner."

"Right." He turned to head back towards the table where Nick was waiting patiently when Murphy's voice made him pause.

"Oh, are you going to the Royale Theatre? It's the closest."

Harry turned again. "I guess," Harry shrugged. "Probably. Why?"

"No reason. Nice running into you like this, Harry."

"Yeah. We'll have to do it again sometime."

Completely nonplussed, but somewhat amused by Murphy's out of character behavior, Harry pulled out his chair and sat across from Nick.

"Sorry about that. She's someone I work with."

"Ah, magician's assistant?" Nick said.

Hiding his sudden laughter at the vision of Murphy in a sequined bathing suit, Harry nodded. "Something like that."

They spent the rest of dinner engaging in light small-talk, discussing jobs, politics, and the upcoming baseball season. Nick picked up the check and helped Harry into his sports jacket as they left. On the way to his Mercedes Benz, Nick hooked his arm around Harry's waist. Fighting the initial urge to jump away, grab the nearest female and shout, "I'm straight!" to the world, Harry gradually relaxed into the loose embrace.

Murphy, standing outside the restaurant with her cell phone out, let out a snarl. "You were right," she said disgustedly to the person on the other end of the line. "He definitely has designs on Harry."

She listened as the person said something, and then snorted with disbelief. "This is Harry. You really think he has any clue?"

More chatter, including a deep, exasperated sigh.

"Right. I'll call Molly and let her know."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Royale Theatre used to be a run-down homage to nostalgia before a company had purchased the building and restored the theatre to its former glory. Framed movie posters of the classics, from Casablanca to Star Wars, hung along the halls, along with glamorous photographs of stars posing for the camera in slinky dresses or tailored suits. Most of them were autographed.

"Would you look at that," Harry said, pointing to one of the photographs that caught his eye. "Humphrey Bogart!"

Nick grinned. "You're a Bogie fan?"

"Who isn't?" Harry scoffed. He lowered his voice and slurred his words together. "Of all the gin joints in all the world, why'd she have to walk into this one?"

"Do us all a favor and stick to magic," Nick said, shaking his head. Harry nudged him in the side, flashing him a smile to let him know the jab wasn't taken seriously.

"What about you? Who's your favorite movie star?"

"Oh, I was always more of a William Powell fan," Nick admitted. "I grew up on The Thin Man and My Man Godfrey."

"You can't go wrong with him. I always thought he'd make a great James Bond."

"Nah, he was too suave."

"True."

"Hey, are you too full from dinner or do you want something to snack on?" Nick said, jerking a thumb towards the concession stand. There was a meandering line of people waiting with bored expressions, some of them eyeing the candy under the glass, then eyeing the prices with considerably less taste.

"I'm never too full for popcorn," Harry agreed easily. "It's a movie tradition."

"I'd hate to break a tradition," Nick pushed him to the hallways with a hand on the small of Harry's back. "Go find us some seats while I get us some."

"Extra, extra butter," Harry called after him. Nick waved a hand in acknowledgement and Harry navigated his way through the maze of hallways to one of the theatres on the left. They were a little early. The screen was showing advertisements with golden film strips parading around and the seats were mostly empty. Pausing, he wondered briefly if Nick liked to be close to the screen or near the back, then shrugged, deciding on two neutral middle seats. Hopefully Nick wouldn't mind.

"Harry!" A loud, shrill voice shrieked from behind him. He jumped, whirling around to see a blur of purple hair and several piercings hurling towards him. Molly caught him around the middle, wrapping him up in a bear hug. "What a surprise seeing you here!"

"Molly?" He pried her newly affectionate arms from around him, holding her back at arms length. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you kidding? I love coming to the movies!" she said. The few other people in the theatre glared at her and Harry winced.

"That's nice, but I really didn't see you for the Indiana Jones type."

"Are you kidding? Harrison Ford, Shia Lebouf, how can I say no?" She peered around him. "Where are you sitting?"

"Uh." Harry waved vaguely to the seats in the middle he had staked out.

"Great!" Molly said in an entirely too chipper tone, throwing herself into one of them and putting her feet up on the seat in front. "I'll sit with you, okay?"

"No, not okay," Harry crossed his arms and glared down at her. "I'm kind of here with someone."

Molly's eyes positively glowed. "A date? Harry, you dog!" She hit him playfully on the shoulder. "Is she pretty? Introduce me."

"Here we go," Nick's cheerful voice interrupted what Harry was about to say. He balanced two enormous Cokes and an overflowing bag of popcorn in his arms. "Did you find us some seats?"

"Yeah, one row above." Harry gave Molly a pointed look. "This one seems to be too crowded."

"Harry, I'm hurt," Molly said in an offended tone. She put one hand over her heart. "You wound me."

"You know each other?" Nick asked curiously, glancing back and forth between them. Before Harry could deny it, Molly jumped up and held out her hand.

"Molly Carpenter. Please to meet you," she introduced herself politely.

Nick fumbled with the assortment until Harry took both drinks off his hands. Nick shook Molly's hand and favored her with a blinding smile.

"She's my apprentice," Harry admitted reluctantly. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Get your eyes back in your head. He's gay, remember?"

"I could change that," she whispered back with a mischievous grin. "Just give me five minutes."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

"Hey, you could learn something. I know this one trick, where you take your tongue and you curl it back—"

With a wistful memory of when Molly was a cute, harmless little girl and knew nothing about tongues or curling or anything else he was sure he did not want to hear about, Harry raised his voice and said firmly, "We're going now."

"It was nice meeting you, Molly," Nick said charmingly. He placed a hand on the small of Harry's back, guiding him up to the next row. Molly followed, oblivious to the glares Harry kept shooting her way.

"I'll sit with you guys, okay?" she said without waiting for a response. She darted forward to ensconce herself between Harry and Nick, but Nick dodged just in time and smoothly took the seat to the left of Harry.

"I just love Indiana Jones," she gushed as the lights dimmed. "What's this one called again?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I am so, so sorry about that," Harry apologized for the third time.

Nick laughed. "It's okay, really. I didn't mind."

Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment again, thinking of Molly chattering the entire movie. About mid-way through, Nick had moved to put his arm around the back of Harry's shoulders when Molly had suddenly stretched, preventing him from completing the move. It could have been accidental, but Harry was beginning to suspect something was amiss. Something that started with a Toe and ended with a Moss.

"I had a good time," Nick reassured him.

Harry sighed, feeling a reluctant grin tugging his face. "It was pretty good," he admitted. "So what comes next?"

"Next," Nick said, winding his arm around Harry's waist again, "you decide it's a beautiful night and go for a walk."

Surprisingly, Harry found himself enjoying the touch. Feeling a bit high from the combination of good conversation, good food, and a date that so far had not gone entirely disastrous, aside from the intervention by, he was sure, well-meaning but inevitably bothersome friends, he leaned a little bit closer to Nick's side. He cleared his throat, widened his eyes and glanced around ostentatiously. "My, but what a beautiful night it is."

"I'm glad you think so," Nick smiled. "Maybe we should go for a walk."

"I would like that."

Chicago nights always seemed to be either swelteringly hot or chillingly cold, but the Fates had conspired to end Harry's evening on a high note. Fall had settled in two weeks ago, comfortable within the confines of the high-rise towers and historical buildings, and made itself at home. The breeze was just cool enough for Harry to welcome the additional heat from Nick's hand on his hip and the warmth at his side.

"Autumn's my favorite time of year," Nick suddenly broke the quiet. Harry looked up at him inquisitively and Nick gave a sheepish smile. "I love the colors, the weather, everything about it. Halloween was always my favorite holiday as a kid. I liked it better than Christmas."

"Yeah. So did I," Harry said. "Then again, it was also my birthday."

"Really?" Nick grinned at him. "So I guess you got spoiled rotten, huh."

"Oh yeah." Harry smiled fondly at the memory of his dad bringing home an entire bag of mixed candy. They would stay up, trading each other for their favorites and eating enough to make them sick the rest of the night. "My dad and I spoiled ourselves for dinner. He always made sure to bring home some caramel apples, too. Never knew where he found them every year, but without fail, he would have some no matter where we were."

"That sounds nice."

"It was," Harry nodded.

A sudden coughing broke his memories and he looked up to see a shock of black hair curling wildly above a newspaper. Suspicion lowered over him again.

"Excuse me," he said, extracting himself from Nick. He stormed over to the bench and used one finger to pull the newspaper slowly down, revealing the nervous face of one Waldo Butters.

"Butters," said Harry evenly. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Oh," Butters said weakly. "Hi, Harry. I didn't expect to find you here."

"Really? What were you doing out here, then?"

"Um, reading the paper," Butters held up his cover with trembling hands. Harry glanced around at the deserted park, noting the lack of light except from the dim guides placed along the path. Like parking garages, the lights in parks were strategically designed to shine just enough to create a creepy atmosphere while doing absolutely nothing for real visibility.

"In the middle of the night, in the park."

"It's just such a lovely—"

"Butters," Harry interrupted sharply. "I want you to call Thomas and tell him that if he doesn't call his merry band of spies off, I'm going to set him up on a blind date just as soon as I can find a man weighing over 300 pounds named Butch. Got it?"

Butters gulped. "Got it."

Without bothering to say goodbye, Harry walked back to where Nick was watching with a bemused expression on his face. "Now, where were we?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

There was no reason to be worried. Harry was a grown man, a grown _wizard_, who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Thomas had watched him take on monsters, faerie assassins, and an assortment of creepy crawlie beasties and come out with barely a scratch. Surely he could defend himself against one regular man.

Surely.

He glanced at the door again, feeling for all the world like a parent whose child was out past curfew. Butters had called him an hour ago and delivered Harry's message, along with his own resignation and a plea not to get him involved again. Though Thomas doubted Harry would go through with his threat—he was almost positive, really, that Harry was just blowing smoke—he had reluctantly called Molly and Murphy to tell them to back off. He had even called Rawlings to inform the cop that he could stop tailing them if they headed back to Nick's apartment after their date. All the members of Thomas's merry gang of spies had been frighteningly eager to go along with his plan.

Grinning, he recalled his conversation with the lovely and charming Sergeant Murphy.

"He's on a what with a who?" Murphy's voice said incredulously, sounding tinny over the phone line.

"A date with a man," Thomas repeated patiently.

"Harry? On a date?"

Thomas hopped onto the counter, wishing again that Harry wasn't the grim reaper of electronics, so he could have this conversation on a cell phone while flipping channels looking for the hockey game. "I know it sounds impossible, but it's true."

"Didn't he just dump you?"

"Hey!" Thomas unconsciously straightened. "Let's get one thing straight here, I was the one who dumped him, got it? He's still reeling from the shock, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"This guy? He's probably a rebound guy," Thomas said confidently.

"Uh-huh. You know, my life used to be normal."

Thomas nodded, his voice laden with sympathy and understanding. "Until you met Harry."

Murphy sighed deeply. "Until I met Harry. Do you have any idea where they're going?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Thomas said with a shark-like grin, giving her the name of the restaurant along with instructions to pass along a certain client's name if the maitre-de gave her any problems.

"You know, Thomas," Murphy said before she hung up the phone, "I'm really glad you're on our side."

Glancing up at the clock again, he felt the grin slip away from his face.

He's a grown man, Thomas reminded himself again. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and does not need your help. Even if he is your little brother.

The wards flashed briefly and Thomas found himself hovering by the door in a shot. He fought down the urge to drag Harry inside and interrogate him, patiently waiting for him to step all the way into his apartment. Then he could start the questioning. The door slammed open, revealing Harry, a very pissed off expression written on his face.

"That, that—" He let out a wordless shout of frustration, peeling off his sports jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch. "I can't believe the nerve—"

Thomas followed him as he kicked off his shoes and stormed into his bedroom. "What happened?"

"Things were going great," Harry paused to shoot him a scowl that promised retribution in the near future, "as I'm sure you already know. Then he invited me back to his place for a cup of coffee."

"Harry," Thomas started uneasily, "You do know—"

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware what a cup of coffee means," Harry said crossly. "I told him I wasn't interested and he kept pressuring me, saying it was just a cup of coffee if I wanted it to be. I was having a good time, so I said yes."

He sat silently fuming, tugging at his socks and throwing them across the room.

"Well?" Thomas demanded when he couldn't stand it anymore.

Harry paused, putting his head in his hands. "That _jerk_ started pawing at me as soon as we got through the door. He managed to get my belt buckle undone before I threw him off of me and got the hell out of there."

"He _what_?" Thomas shouted, his brows drawing together with fury.

Harry glanced up in alarm. "I'm fine, Thomas. The guy was a bastard, I told him no, then I left. Nothing happened."

"But he tried—"

"He _tried_," Harry stressed. "Nothing happened."

Thomas took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry if I'm overreacting. I just knew that guy was bad news."

"Well, he had me fooled." Harry's face fell and Thomas felt a sudden pang of sympathy. Harry had been having a good time on his first date since Susan and it had ended in disaster. The infamous Harry luck strikes again. Harry shook himself, going to work on unbuttoning his shirt. When he spoke, his voice sounded bone-weary and it hurt Thomas to hear it. Harry scrubbed his face with one hand and yawned. "Listen, I'm kind of tired."

"Sure, Harry. Get some sleep. I'll let myself out."

Harry was already asleep before Thomas could finish the sentence. Quietly pulling a blanket over his snoring brother, Thomas tiptoed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Nick frowned as the doorbell rang. Who could possibly want him at this time of night?

The peephole revealed a devastatingly handsome young man with a million dollar smile stretching his face. It might be his lucky night after all. Pasting a matching smile on his face, Nick opened the door.

The young man held out his hand. "Hi, you must be Nick."

"That's me," Nick said, shaking the hand. "Who are you?"

"Oh, we haven't met," the man said. From beside him, the blonde coworker Harry had been talking to at the restaurant and the cute little apprentice from the movie theatre stepped out. "See, I'm Thomas, and this is Sergeant Murphy of the Chicago PD. You've already met Molly."

He wedged his foot in the door before Nick could slam it shut.

"Uh-uh. See, we're all close friends of Harry and we hate to see him get hurt, abused, or generally trampled on, all of which you kind of did tonight."

Sergeant Murphy took a step forward. She barely reached his chest and her upturned nose made her look more cute than menacing, but her voice was low and threatening when she spoke. "If I ever hear you doing anything like that to Harry or anyone else again, I will personally make your life a living hell. A lot of cops like Harry and admire him and we'll gladly make sure that everywhere you go, someone will be watching you."

"That's harassment!" Nick squawked.

Murphy smiled grimly. "Tell it to the police."

The lights suddenly flickered and Molly's eyes flashed in time with them. Nick felt a trickle of unease run down his spine. There was nothing of the ditzy, annoying girl that had squeezed her way into their date earlier that night in this girl's eyes. "I'm Harry's apprentice, but I'm also his friend. Unless you never want to have hot water, electricity, or a working car again, I would suggest you be good to your future dates, capisce?"

The two women left him with one last scowl before heading down the hall, leaving only Thomas. Normally Nick would have laughed to think of a flamboyantly gay, French hairdresser staring him down, but Thomas's eyes were a hard gray and he stood unflinching in the hallway glaring at Nick. "So now you know. What you didn't know is that Harry is a wizard."

An ugly expression crossed Nick's face. "I did know that actually. He told me so himself."

"No, he told you he was a wizard. I'm telling you that he's a _wizard_," Thomas said, emphasizing the last word. "He could have torn you apart, roasted you and served you for dinner, but he didn't, because he's a good guy."

He leaned forward suddenly, his lips curling in something that was too cruel to be called a smile. "Me? I'm not a good guy. I'm also very, very protective of Harry."

The air seemed to drop several degrees in between them and Nick took an involuntary step back. Thomas's eyes refused to let his go, and he kept speaking in a low, soft voice. "You're going to call him up tomorrow, apologize for your behavior, and then you are never going to see him, speak to him, or even think about him again. Got it?"

Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got it."

"Good." Thomas leaned back again and pasted that friendly, fake smile back on. "Have a great day."

He walked down the hall to where the women were waiting, disappearing down the stairs together. Nick shivered, locking his door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Morning," Thomas greeted Harry cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen. Harry blinked at him owlishly a few times and accepted the cold can of Coke Thomas pushed into his hands without protest.

"I thought you were going to leave," Harry managed in the middle of a jaw-breaking yawn.

Thomas shrugged, urging his brother into a chair at the table. "I had something to take care of, but I came back and spent the night on the couch." He placed a plate full of toast and scrambled eggs on the table in front of Harry, the only thing he could make without burning too badly. After you picked off the charred bits, it was actually pretty edible. In fact, with the addition of a small ocean of ketchup, the ash taste almost completely disappeared.

"Oh," Harry said, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He looked at Thomas thoughtfully as he chewed. "You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't," Thomas said without elaborating.

They ate in companionable silence and Thomas was clearing the table when the phone rang. Harry answered it, a dark expression settling onto his face as he listened to the caller. Thomas concentrated on scraping the grease off the plates.

"You listen to me," Harry said coldly. His voice dropped to a register Thomas couldn't hear, then went completely quiet. Then, "If you ever try anything like that again, to _anybody_, I swear I'm going to personally kick your ass."

He slammed the receiver down.

"Who was that?" Thomas asked innocently.

"Oh, that asshole I went out with last night," Harry said, slamming a cup into the sink. "He called to apologize. I told him off though. I think he got the picture." He sent a victorious look Thomas's way. "I told you I didn't need your protection."

Thomas hid a smile as he dried the plates.

"Nope, you seem to have taken care of it all by yourself, Harry."

* * *

I want to thank everyone who took the time to read (and review!) this story and for waiting so patiently every week for me to post when I kind of suck with deadlines. It's really great to get feedback from people--and get added onto their favorite stories lists--and I really cannot thank you enough.


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